


Standing Dates

by lorax



Category: History Boys (2006)
Genre: College, Friendship, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorax/pseuds/lorax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one is more surprised than Posner when he and Irwin become friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Dates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skidmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skidmo/gifts).



When Posner took a job in the copy room of the production company that puts on Irwin's show, he didn't expect to see Irwin much. There's very little glamour in a tiny history programme on a little-watched network, but Irwin is still an on-air personality, and well liked for having been on for only a year. Posner was just a copy boy, and part time at that. It was a step up from the runner job he'd taken his second term to try to help ends meet, since it meant he was dry and had time to sit and read and wasn't forever sniffling with a cold brought on by biking through the rain.

But it was bizarre to walk the halls and hear people talking about Irwin again. Posner had gotten quite enough of that at Cutlers'. But it was different here. The talk was all about how charming Irwin was, still, but there were underhanded whispers and soft talk about his limp, and how on days when the rain was heavy he sometimes had to sit between takes and would never accept help up. When they learned Posner had been his student when he had his accident, the other girls and lone boy in the copy room tried to press him for details. Posner had spent quite a lot of time resenting Irwin, his existence, and whatever magical quality he had that Posner did not. He'd felt guilty for that after the accident, but most of his sorrow had been reserved for Hector, not Irwin. Now he caught himself wondering what it was like for Irwin, and what he would do differently, if he had a chance.

He never intended to ask. Posner wasn't even sure that Irwin knew he worked there until he looked up from collating to find Irwin standing there, leaning on his cane and smiling tiredly, as if he'd been in all night. "You look as if you're doing well," he said by way of hello.

Posner looked as he always had. He was still small and awkward with baby-fine hair that never looked at all interesting and skin that burned at the first glimpse of sun. He hadn't the faintest idea how you could tell if he was well or not, just by looking. Irwin, on the other hand, looked a bit older than he had at the funeral, a touch more gaunt. Posner wondered if maybe he wasn't eating properly, and then wondered when exactly he'd started turning into his mother. "I saw your show yesterday - it was very interesting."

Irwin smiled a little more widely. "I quoted Auden," he said.

Posner smiled back. "I noticed."

Irwin nodded his head toward the door. "Can I buy you lunch? Nothing more glamorous than a sandwich, I'm afraid."

It was nearly his lunch break anyway, and Posner usually spent it alone in the little break room, or nodding vacantly along with whatever Karen (who worked reception) was talking about while Posner went through and highlighted his class notes. He hesitated, because Irwin had never liked him and Posner had liked him even less, but in the end he nodded. "If you don't mind waiting a tic while I finish up?"

Ten minutes later, he found himself ensconced in a table in the back of the deli down the street, a chicken salad sandwich and a pickle on the plate in front of him. Irwin only had coffee and a bagel and chives, and seemed to barely be interested in it. 

They talked a bit about the programme, and about some of the people around the office. Posner told him about seeing Tottie when he was home at Christmas, and that Felix was retiring next year. Irwin told him about shooting in Dublin for the upcoming special, and how his shoes had smelled of cowslip for days, no matter how he'd polished. Posner was surprised how long it took Irwin to work his way around to asking after the others. 

He was more surprised that it didn't bother him the way it once had. "We all come 'round for drinks, every couple of weeks. Lockwood's shipping out after this term, and the rest don't always make it. Rudge is always off at practice and Timms is head over heels for a girl at Leeds," he said. He saw the way Irwin was waiting, and finally he gave him what he wanted. "Dakin shares a room with Scripps. They pop by most weeks." Dakin usually spent the first half hour with them, ribbing Scripps before he vanished to pull and left them all to talk. More and more the conversation was about jobs and girlfriends and marks. It was only on the nights when it was just Scripps and Posner left in Dakin's wake and the others already gone that they started to talk about poetry and history, to argue halfheartedly about the merits of things (because Scripps and Posner had so often seen eye to eye, anyway, and they didn't debate well without Irwin or Dakin or Timms there to spark an opposing view.) "You could come around, you know. It's a standing pub night, more or less. Everyone would love to see you." It was still a standing night, but it happened less often that they all showed up, and Posner avoided it, some nights, because watching people trickle in seemed to underline how they were all drifting, and he wasn't quite ready to let that happen. 

Of course staying away just seemed to help it along faster, but coping methods needn't always make sense, Posner reasoned.

Irwin looked doubtful, head ducking and shoulder rolling like it ached. Posner rather thought that most of Irwin's bones must ache, even if he hadn't crashed a motorcycle into the pavement. He held his spine so stiff and his chin so even - it must hurt, after a while, being forever so very correct. "An old teacher tagging along for a pub night would just be strange, I think."

"You were barely a teacher," Posner said without thinking. He winced as soon as he had, backtracking quickly. "I didn't mean it as an insult. I meant. . . it was only a year, and you were more. . . preparing us than teaching? And you weren't so very much older than us."

"I feel older," Irwin said. "I think not. But thank you for the invitation." He tilted his head, fingers drumming on the table. "I didn't realize it was you at first, when people mentioned the new boy in the copy room. They all call you David - or Davey. I don't think I ever even heard them use your real name back at Cutlers'."

"They still don't, mostly," Posner said. The others were Donald or Stuart, or Chris, now and then. But he was always Posner. ("Pos", to Scripps, sometimes. It was the closest thing to a nickname Posner had ever had, and he was a little too fond of the way Scripps drawled the short syllable.) "They'd still call you Irwin, too."

"I suppose so," Irwin said. He's quiet for a long moment, save for the drum of his fingers. Posner wanted to reach out and push them down, just to still them, but he remembers acutely that this is the first man he ever told what he was, and that any touch would be taken the wrong way. He was forever aware of that, afraid of inviting ridicule with an overture he hadn't meant to make. So he didn't touch.

It was hard to let go of the dislike, the sharply painful jealousy he'd felt for Irwin for so long. It was still there, but looking at Irwin, all Posner felt is a sense of familiarity and recognition. Posner had seen much of himself in Hector, because Hector loved poetry the way Posner did. But Irwin was a much truer mirror than Hector. Irwin didn't have the false front of a wife; he ate his meals alone and he'd wanted but had never touched. Irwin was a cleverer version of Posner. (Or maybe Posner was a kinder version of Irwin.) It was the kinship he felt more than the envy, now. "Do they ever-" Irwin started to ask, halting and careful the way Posner had rarely heard him speak, back when he was all energy and criticism that baited them into thinking differently.

Posner didn't make him finish. "They still talk about you. We all do. Dakin still does. There's girls - it's Dakin, there's always girls - and I think he and Scripps. . ." That was guesswork, and not the sort that made Posner happy to think about. But he'd noticed things, here and there. It was like a time-travel back to Cutlers' thinking about it, because Posner had spent so much time working past the ache of his love for Dakin (crush, but even now he couldn't admit that's what it was), only to start toward something youthful and more melancholy for Scripps. He shrugged. "But it's not anything they talk about." In a way, Posner wondered if Stuart wasn't waiting for Irwin still, the way Posner had waited for Dakin. (The way he thought Scripps was waiting for Dakin now.)

Irwin swallowed, and then nodded. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"It's all right to ask. We're not students anymore. Not _your_ students, anyway." Posner wrapped the rest of his sandwich up in a napkin and glanced at his watch. "I should get back, I've two stacks to finish before I leave for a study group." Posner knew he should just leave it. He doubted anything good could come of the two of them speaking again, too much old resentment and too much alike on top of that. Posner would end up spending his nights remembering how breathlessly, hopelessly in love with Dakin he'd been until the ache of it felt new and vital in his chest again. But he still looked at Irwin and then offered hesitantly. "There's a coffee shop a block over - it's really rather good. Maybe next Tuesday we could. . ." 

He trailed off, and Posner was sure that Irwin will refuse at first, but then he looked up, and he smiled. It was almost convincing. "I'd like that," he said.

Posner smiled back. It was likely just Irwin being polite, and they'd both pretend to have forgotten by next week and never bring it up again. But maybe not. Misery did love company, or so it's said. What was the harm in trying?  
***

It became a standing lunch. Some weeks Irwin was on location, or in the middle of shoots. Other weeks Posner was swamped with Cambridge classwork or studies. But more often than not they spent Thursday afternoons at one cafe or another. They talked history and work. Posner complained about his classes. 

Sometimes, they talked about Dakin. More often they talked about Hector, because Irwin remembered the little bits he'd seen in their shared classes, and the snide comments from his students. He hadn't known Hector's best side, and there was no one else Posner had ever been able to really talk about it with, aside from Scripps. It was different with Scripps, though. Scripps had been there, and he had his own view of Hector. It was kinder than Dakin's, but it wasn't tinted in with the same shades of nostalgia that Posner's were. Irwin would just listen, and sometimes he would smile. Posner liked the idea that there might be someone in the world who saw Hector the way Posner had, even if it was no closer to the facts than Dakin's version would have been.

There were moments when Posner almost saw what had fascinated Dakin about Irwin, but mostly it was just strangely comfortable. "He was just a boy," Irwin said one Thursday, after the conversation had circled around to Dakin and Scripps again. "Testing the waters as if he had any idea what he wanted."

Posner laughed at that. "I was two years younger than he was, and knew exactly what I wanted. Just because he hadn't wanted something before didn't mean he never would. That's how I used to get through each day, imagining I'd end up at Oxford and Dakin would suddenly see me. Instead I ended at Cambridge, and it stopped mattering if Dakin saw."

Irwin smiled, small and wry. "At Cutlers', you'd have told me Dakin was the end for you."

Posner shrugged. "When there's nothing there for you, you learn to move on I suppose. From one impossible dream to another." They had stopped in at the tiny Italian place three streets over today, and Posner was crammed into the booth, his knees knocking into Irwin's whenever they moved. He didn't think he wanted to come back here again - the garlic smell was too strong. But his linguine was good, and he took a bite before he pointed the warped prongs of his fork at Irwin. "It isn't the same for you, I expect."

"I expect not," Irwin said. It was the heavy tone that Posner had come to understand meant that Irwin wanted to end the conversation.

One of the best things about becoming a strange sort of friends with someone you'd once hated was that it left you very little need to cater to their preferences in conversation. Posner usually went out of his way to make the people around him happy, even if he privately resented that he had to. But with Irwin, he rarely bothered. Irwin seemed to appreciate that, even when it made him uncomfortable. "Not because you don't want him just as badly as I did, but because he wanted you back. It's harder to let go of someone you could have had than it is someone you never had the slightest chance with." That made it sound easier than it actually was, Posner realized. But he didn't feel like he had to explain that letting go had been agonizing and slow and that there were still days when Dakin's smile could make Posner's whole body tingle and ache for what he'd never had.

Irwin frowned. "There are. . . they won't all be Dakin, David," he said. "It needn't always be so. . . one-sided."

Maybe not. Posner wasn't a child, and Cambridge was big. There had been two boys, both a year ahead and both bolder than Posner knew how to be. He'd kissed one, done a bit more than kissed the other. It had been thrilling and felt good, but he hadn't wanted to go back for more, even if they'd been willing. Posner expected his life would always be made up of wanting those that didn't want him back, and not caring enough about the ones that did.

He turned his head for a moment, watching as the bus boy cleared off the table a few rows down. He had dark hair that brushed his neck and wide shoulders. He was maybe a few years older than Posner, and lovely. When Posner looked back at Irwin, he could track the shift of the other man's eyes, see how he'd been watching the same person Posner had been caught by. Irwin was better at hiding it, but Posner knew what to watch for. "Do you ever wonder what would happen if you just. . . did the things you liked? If the world just bent its shape around you, instead of you twisting to suit it?"

Irwin laughed between bites of ziti. "Ask Dakin. I'm sure he'd know."

"Probably, for the most part. But not entirely." Even Dakin had saved Hector, only to lose him. Posner wasn't sure how much that had meant to Dakin, but he liked to believe that it had cut the other boy, too, if only because it suited Posner's ego to believe he hadn't been in love with someone who could live through that and not be scarred by it. 

And Dakin hadn't gotten anything he'd wanted from Irwin, either. So not even Dakin could deform the universe to suit his every whim.

"Does it get easier?" Posner asked. "When you have to choose over and over again to stay alone, does it ever stop feeling like you've given something up?"

Irwin stopped, looking at Posner. "I don't know what you mean."

Posner leaned back, twining a fork of linguine over and over without eating it. "Yes you do."

Irwin licked his lips, and then answered in that careful way that still seemed unnatural, coming from him. "You stop feeling as if you have a choice to begin with, eventually. But you always feel as if you've lost something." He smiled again, but it was bitter and sad. Posner knew that look all too well. "Most of the time, you really don't have a choice anyway, it just seemed as if you had for a little while."

Posner imagined being Irwin. He imagined going home alone every night. Or maybe it was just most nights, and sometimes he found someone for brief flickers of time, and then let them go again. He imagined being clever, but not believing in anything but the passage of time and the history that came with it. He imagined never feeling anything but alone.

Posner wasn't sure he could live that way.

"I'm thinking of becoming a teacher," he said, changing the subject with a complete lack of grace.

Irwin paused a beat, and then he went with it. He was much more polite than Posner was, much of the time, in these little conversations of theirs. "Are you?"

Posner shrugged. "I haven't the talent for much else."

"That's not true. But I think you could be brilliant at it," Irwin said. "You loved history, and music and literature, even I could see that. It's what made it so hard for me to teach you to be shallow in your interviews and essays."

Posner thought it was likely a terrible harbinger of his future to realize it, but he'd been happiest at Cutlers'. He'd been heartsick and constantly felt as if he had to prove himself - but he'd been happier then. Maybe if he was teaching someone else, someone like they had been, he could feel that way again. "I haven't decided," he said.

He'd asked before, but they'd been doing this for six months or more now, and Posner had a better idea of why Irwin had always said no, now, and how to push at Irwin to change his mind. So he asked again. "Come out for drinks with us. I won't tell them you're coming, and you can pretend it's an accident, if you want." He held up a hand before Irwin could protest. "Why not? We both know you'll be at home with a TV tray and an outline of next week's special if you don't. You've been having lunch with me for months - drinks with a few other former students won't hurt."

"It could," Irwin said flatly.

Posner had no good rebuttal for that, save the one Irwin probably wouldn't believe. He tried the next best thing. "How much worse could it get?" A muscle in Irwin's jaw ticked, and Posner stood, pulling out enough dosh to pay the tip, since Irwin always covered their food. "Just think about it."

He started to walk away, but Irwin's hand on his sleeve stopped him. "What about Scripps?" he asked quietly. "I don't suppose that has anything to do with this?"

Posner faltered for a second. "I hadn't meant it to," he said quietly. But he wasn't as kind as he liked to think he was. Maybe the idea of Irwin back in the picture had appealed to him for more reasons than just because Irwin was a friend, and so was Dakin, and Posner wanted to see Irwin happy.

Dakin had his girls, but they came and went. Only Scripps stayed, and Posner could spot the signs of someone hanging on because Dakin strung them out just enough that they couldn't let go. He didn't even think Dakin always realized he was doing it (though maybe that was Posner being too charitable), but that didn't change how well it worked. 

He took a deep breath and tugged his sleeve gently free. "Sometimes, I just like the idea that second chances exist. And if they don't, then isn't it better to know for sure?" he said.

Irwin didn't answer, and Posner waited for a long moment before he shrugged. "It's the little pub on O street, with the daisy on the sign. Something Mike's, I think. People usually start showing up around nine."

On the way out, Posner collided with the bus boy, who steadied him with a callused, broad palm and apologized. Posner swallowed and smiled and ducked out, wondering how long it took before you were able to pretend well enough that it never showed. Maybe you never could. Maybe that was how Hector became Hector - he'd just learnt he could never really hide.  
***

Posner had an oral exam to sit for, and then an essay to finish, so it was close to ten by the time he made it to Mike's. One of the big round tables in the front was already staked out by Crowther and Timms while Rudge stands over by the bar, arguing with the bartender about something (rugby, probably.) They greeted him with lifted pints and lazy waves, and Posner got himself a pint and then sank down next to Timms, evading the broadly waving hands he was using to tell a story about. . . something. Posner could barely follow it, and got the feeling being there for the start of it wouldn't have helped make it more coherent.

Scripps and Dakin arrived a few minutes after him, Scripps dutifully fetching them pints while Dakin stole Akthar's seat before he got back from the loo. Dakin looked tired, but he's smirking and launching into a story about how he got one-up on his composition class leader.

Scripps returned with pints and sat down on Posner's other side. "How's the world, Pos?" he asked, voice low and easy.

_Lonely_ , Posner wanted to say, because Scripps always brought out the honesty in him, even when he probably wished Posner had kept quiet. But he just smiled back and shrugged. "I think I've managed all A's and a B this semester," he said.

"Better off than me," Scripps said. "My maths are dismal."

"That's why Posner is our only scholarship lad," Crowther said, leaning across to give Posner's shoulder a pat. Posner wished he were really as grown up as he liked to think he was, and that the little nod of approval didn't mean as much to him as it did.

Posner tried to nurse his beer because he was down to the bottom of the month and didn't have anything to spare for more drinks, but Dakin bought a round, and then Timms shocked everyone by getting another. So he gave it up and made it through his fourth on Rudge's round. It was well on toward eleven and he'd given up on Irwin for the evening. He was instead watching Scripps when no one was looking, and arguing about the best way to the south end of the campus with Adi when they were.

He had stopped watching the door, but he spotted Dakin suddenly freeze, mid-sentence, and Scripps sat up a bit beside him. Posner figured out why before he bothered to look and confirm. Irwin was dressed in short sleeves and an open-collar polo and jeans. It was the most casual Posner had ever seen him, but the way he stood was awkward enough that Irwin looked formal anyway, and it left him out of place in the run-down pub. He didn't have his cane with him, and Posner frowned, but said nothing. Even if Irwin was clearly as much of a proud, peacock of a prat as Dakin, since Posner knew how much he had to lean on it when he was tired.

"Sir, come down to join the heathens, have you? Or have you given up your life of fame to come and teach at Oxford and enlighten the masses?" Timms asked.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dakin asked at the same time.

Irwin shot him a look, but it was Timms he answered. "Just visiting. Posner invited me," he said.

Posner tried without much success to hide his surprise at Irwin admitting he'd seen Posner. He'd been sure Irwin would want it to seem like happenstance, however unlikely. Crowther, Dakin, Scripps, and Akthar all turned to look speculatively at him. Posner sank a little deeper into his seat, automatically trying to be less visible before he jumped up instead, pulling over another chair. "I run copies for his production company. I thought he should drop by," Posner explained. Everyone knew what his job was - he'd just never mentioned where. No one had bothered to ask, either.

Irwin sat carefully, and Dakin leaned forward. "And here we all thought you'd forgotten us," he said.

Irwin paused and then smiled faintly. "Dakin. You'd never think anyone could forget you."

Timms and Rudge laughed and Dakin smirked and they all began to ask questions about Irwin's show, and what he'd been doing. They were all used to one another's complaints and moaning by now, and new blood and stories livened them all up instantly. Eventually Crowther pulled out a pack of cards and a game started up. Posner got up and went to the bar. He didn't have anything to spare on a game, either. But mostly he just took a stool and watched from a distance as the others talked and played. Sometime during the night, Dakin and Akthar had switched seats again, and Dakin was next to Irwin, his eyes on his cards but all his focus on Irwin. It put Posner sharply in mind of their last days at Cutlers', when Dakin orbited Irwin like a planet to a sun, and Posner circled around Dakin in turn like a lightless moon who could only reflect without shining on his own.

"Do you think anything will come of it this time?" Scripps asked from beside him. Posner started. He'd seen Scripps leave the table, but not where he'd gone. It was well past three, and Posner was tired and not at all sure he hadn't done something incredibly stupid, bringing Irwin back in to this when Posner's place was still something so tenuous and close to being outside. Even now that they'd all grown apart and the nights they all showed up for this were getting more and more rare, Posner still felt like the child hanging hopefully on the coattails of the older boys. He couldn't tell how much of that was his own insecurity and how much of it was just the truth of how things were.

Posner didn't answer at first. He watched Irwin carefully stretch his leg out, saw the way Dakin's fingers dropped to brush his thigh when he did. "I don't know," he said finally. "If it does, it'll likely be doomed. Dakin doesn't understand the idea of fidelity."

"Assuming that was even something Irwin wanted," Scripps pointed out. "But you've got Dakin wrong you know, Pos. It's not that he can't keep from straying. It's that he never had reason."

"He could have had one if he wanted to," Posner pointed out. "And there was Fiona." Though Fiona had simply been available, pretty, and convenient. Posner had known that even back then, and it had been why he'd never really disliked her the way he'd had Irwin.

"Not one that mattered. Fiona was over before the ink was dry on Dakin's Oxford letter. And you weren't what could hold Dakin anymore than the girls he brings to drinks every few weeks, David," Scripps said quietly. Posner resented the truth of that enough that he almost missed the soft way Scripps added, "and neither was I."

Posner only just stopped himself from saying something cutting, and then hating himself for it. The soft confession made him feel guilty for even having gotten close. "You're his best friend. That should have-" Posner cut himself off. The world didn't work on what should happen. History was never _fair_ , it was just events, some good, some bad, and most a mix of both. The right side didn't always win a war just because they were in the right. Someone didn't fall in love with you just because you loved them. "I'm sorry," he said instead. He'd brought Irwin for this, and it had been petty.

"Ah, Pos. Do you really think I didn't know? I've always understood how you felt when you looked at Dakin, because I wasn't far off. Maybe it's better this way - he'd have tossed off Irwin after that drink, you know. And not the good sort of tossing off. The kind where Dakin knobs off and doesn't come back because he's a twit who doesn't know what he wants. He'd sort it out too late and been too proud to admit it. Now he knows it's not just girls for him, and the end line doesn't have to be where it would have been before."

Posner knew too much about the origins of their world to really believe that things happened for a reason. But he liked to think that people were capable of making the best of what they were given. So maybe that was true. Maybe it was even true for Posner, as well. If it'd been him Dakin tested his boundaries with and then dropped dead, Posner might not have gotten over him at all. "What about you?" he asked. It felt as if he shouldn't have the right to ask, but he did anyway.

"There's always God," Scripps said dryly. "I hear he does love a reformed sinner."

"Only when they're sorry," Posner said. He looked at Scripps again. "Are you?" he asked.

Scripps shook his head slowly. "It is what it is. _'Tis better to have loved and lost'_ and such."

Posner wrinkled his nose at the cliché, and Scripps laughed again, waving down the bartender for another drink for them both. Posner couldn't argue the sentiment though. He remembered being young (younger, at least) and in love with Dakin so hopelessly that he could burst into tears with it at any moment, though he hadn't let himself. Even then, at the worst of it, he hadn't wanted to let go of Dakin and how he felt about him. It had been part of who Posner was, and it still was. He was a Posner who'd loved Stuart Dakin. Without that, he might not have been at Cambridge at all, and the whole of his life would be different.

Tiny moments that changed everything, Posner knew all about those. The not-so-tiny _feelings_ that altered the course of a life, people talked about those less often. "You used to talk to me more," Scripps said suddenly. "I miss it. I came 'round to see you at work once, you know, but the girl at the desk said you were out for lunch with Irwin."

"I didn't even know you knew where it was," Posner said. Scripps smiled and shrugged, and Posner twisted a little on his stool, just for the sake of moving, watching Timms throw in his hand with a loud protest. Irwin was laughing, his head tipped back, and Dakin's eyes followed the line of Irwin's throat. "I miss it too," Posner said. He had lunches with Irwin now, so he wasn't left with no one to talk to. But it wasn't the same.

"I've the day off today. Once I sleep off the beer, I could come by at work and pick you up. Dakin'll be too hungover to argue about me taking his car."

If he was even there, Posner thought. But he didn't say it, and he tried without success to battle back the warm glow of pleasure that came with the twist of pain at Scripps invitation. It didn't mean what he wanted it to mean, and Posner knew that. But it meant something, and that could be enough. He'd make it be enough, at least for now. "My paycheque doesn't come through until Monday, so we'll either have to eat something under a dollar, or I'll have to owe you," he said, and smiled at Scripps.

Scripps' eyes drifted past him to the table, lingering on Dakin for just a second. But when he looked at Posner, his brown eyes were soft and focused and looking squarely at Posner, as if they didn't miss the sight of Dakin. "We'll take turns with the tab," he said.

Posner nodded and let Scripps buy him a drink, coax him into conversation. When Irwin came by, he dropped a hand on Posner's shoulder and traded a long, uncertain look with Scripps before he trudged on to the bathroom, leaning against the bar between steps and trying to hide it. Scripps snorted, looking amused. "I can't tell if I was just apologized to, or warned off of taking advantage of you," he said.

Posner laughed. "Bit of both, probably?" He shrugged. "But we're not his students anymore. So you don't have to listen."

Scripps' laugh was surprised, but genuine, and it brought Dakin's eyes around to him. For a moment he looked between the two of them from his seat across the pub, and then lifted an empty mug in a mocking salute that somehow still seemed at least a touch sincere.

Posner echoed the gesture, and then looked away, ignoring Dakin and leaving him to Irwin. For the most part, Scripps did the same. Posner didn't begrudge him stray glances and lingering sadness. Posner knew the sort of time it took to let go of Dakin better than anyone. He was willing to wait. If it never happened at all - he'd just be glad to have Scripps as a friend.  
~~~


End file.
